Splinter
by RainbowBetty
Summary: Sam is in pieces, and each one is a piece of Sam. Drabble series, DID!Sam of 6x22. "Dissociative Identity Disorder" or multiple personalities.
1. Chapter 1

(Sam)

He said yes.

He thought he was strong enough.

Now he's grasping for missing pieces, important things he can't remember.

Something happened to him.

He's falling.

And he wakes up to Dean's hand on his forehead, worried creases around his eyes, and Dean pleads with him not to scratch. But there are flashes of things, a growing sense of wrongness. A gnawing unease he can't shake that hints at everything he doesn't know.

He finds notes in his pockets that he never wrote, shirts he doesn't remember buying.

He can't stand not knowing. He dreads finding out.


	2. Chapter 2

(the one who remembers hell)

All that's left of him is the memory of it. The rest has all been burned away, stripped clean.

He remembers hopelessness. Remembers hating himself. Remembers that it didn't matter if he broke, if he begged, if he promised or pleaded. He was a thing to be kicked. An outlet for rage that would never be satisfied. He cowered and took it. There was never any other choice. Nothing to hold on for. Nothing healed. Nothing stopped. No end. No death. Just constant, screaming, bloody, mindless _pain._

There might even have been a point to it once. He doesn't remember.


	3. Chapter 3

(Soulless)

It's a liability, the soul. Without it, the world is sharper. A stark focus of contrasts, black on white. No gray. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

He sees his entire past without the overlay of emotion and breathes in this sense of liberation. Jess' death, unavoidable. Dean's deal, an act of weakness. A mistake _he_ would never have made. The energy expended on revenge seems so trite now, overblown and wasted.

He feels infinitely lighter, unhindered by guilt and indecision. Stronger. More _himself_. This is who he was meant to be, who he might have been without Dean holding him back.


	4. Chapter 4

(Sam)

Bobby won't look him in the eye.

He gets headaches. He waves Dean off, tries to hide the shaking.

He hears himself talking. His voice, not his words. He'll wake up with the almost-memory of fire, choking on his own breath and shocked by the beating of his own heart trapped in his chest.

The sweat-drenched sheets tangled up in nightmare evoke something else entirely. The press of smooth skin under his. Dominant. Demanding.

Horrified, he pushes it aside. It pushes back. Dean tells him to leave it alone.

He wonders how much Dean's not telling.


	5. Chapter 5

(Sam)

Sam gazes down at the bare bones laced with salt and gasoline as Dean leans against the shovel, a glisten of sweat beading his brow and trapping specks of graveyard dirt against his tanned skin, and nods at him to go ahead.

It's automatic, the way he pulls a thin, wooden match from its cardboard box and strikes the edge with one fluid motion. A whiff of smoke and sulfur invades his nostrils, the quick flare of flame erupting inches from his fingertips.

Sam gasps, dropping the match and stumbling back from the hole, the _pit_, the things he wasn't meant to know.

* * *

(he remembers)

He draws in a breath and opens his eyes, and it's _Dean's_ hands, Dean's calloused fingertips, threading gently through his hair to graze his scalp, and Dean breathes out relief and breaks into a smile that he knows somehow is only for _him_.

Oh god, he had forgotten that there was ever _this_. He'd forgotten comfort and reassurance. Concern. Love. He'd _forgotten_ it.

"Dean," he chokes out, the first word he's spoken aloud in centuries, tears filling his eyes, and he fumbles to grip his brother's hand just as _Sam_ blinks awake and finds himself being drawn close to Dean's chest.


	6. Chapter 6

(Soulless)

Dean asks if he remembers Hell. He schools his face into a mask that resembles the brother Dean expects him to be, and he lies.

Why shouldn't he remember? It's like a bullet he took once, painful and shitty until he dug it out and stitched it closed. It's over. Memories only matter when he can use them.

He likes things he can use.

He likes his hand on the slope of a girl's back and her crimson-red lips around his dick. Things that look expensive and feel good and have no consequences.

These things are _his_. These matter.


End file.
